


Pack Street: Dance

by MisterEAnon



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Dancing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterEAnon/pseuds/MisterEAnon
Summary: Written for Thematic Thursday. Theme: Species specific customs.Stoats danced. Sometimes they needed a little help.





	Pack Street: Dance

Stoats danced.

In the beginning, it was The War Dance. As they hunted, they ducked and weaved and flew through the air, propelled by energetic bursts and leaps. Their motions hypnotized their prey.

When stoats no longer needed to hunt, that same pent up energy was still with them. The motion, the excitement. When they didn't dance with their prey, they danced with each other. As friends, as lovers, as families. They danced away the night when they had nothing else to do, growing closer. When words failed, rhythm didn't.

But some stoats didn't have the rhythm.

Marty couldn't dance. And he hated it. His energy remained pent up, boiling over until he exploded at every little thing that roused his ire.

He never told me, of course. But I saw the way he acted whenever the topic came up. It was a big part of stoat culture, and even his junk mail occasionally addressed it.

He always burned that mail, instead of just throwing it out.

Tonight, though. Things would change. He wasn't going to hate himself every time the issue came up.

Marty would dance, even if I had to take him by the paw and make him.

 

 

 

Marty was in a foul mood when he came in. There might have been a reason for that.

Marty held up the reason, which he had clearly removed from the door after I had taped it there. “What the hell's this?” he demanded, shaking it at me.

I glanced up from my book. I liked books. When you lived with a librarian, you had to, else you went insane. “Well, I can't see it very well from here, but if you mean what was taped to the door--”

“It's a fucking ad for a group dance club!” I knew about them. They were places for stoats who didn't have other stoats, be they family or friends or lovers, to dance with. They were niche, but popular enough to advertise in the mail.

I rubbed my chin idly. “You don't like those,” I noted.

He stormed inside. I knew he was heading for the kitchen- That's where he kept the lighter. Even as he started to speak, I stood up to follow him, setting my book to the side.

“Of course I don't like these! It's… It's just stupid,” he grumbled angrily, not having a true reason for his dislike. Mostly because it wasn't the other dancing stoats he disliked, but himself.

By the time I reached him, he already had the lighter out. I gently nudged his paw away, making him hold it away from the letter, even if he hadn't lit it yet. “That's not why.”

He glared at me. “Oh yeah? Well, if you're so fuckin' smart, you tell me w--”

“You don't like them because you can't dance.” I interrupted.

He dropped the lighter. It fell to the floor with a clatter. I scooped him up in my arms, and held him close as I brought him back to the living room.

He must have been truly startled that I knew, since it was a good three seconds before he started to contort in my grip with rage. It didn't do him much good, though, and I set him down on the couch.

He seethed at me. “You KNOW I hate that.”

He really did. It wasn't ever really 'okay' to forcibly move around smaller mammals. But I didn't care, and I cared even less when it was Marty. When it was Marty, it was usually because I was doing something good for him that he was too stubborn to do himself.

Instead, I shuffled over to the stereo. It usually only contained light reading music, for when Marty had the weekend off, and wanted to spend the day buried in books with me. I had already changed the music to something more lively.

I clicked it on. When I turned around, the music starting behind me, I saw the stoat staring at me.

“Let's dance,” I said.

He crossed his arms. “Fuck you.”

I smiled, which only seemed to make his grumpiness intensify. He was cute when he pouted like that. I shuffled over with the silent steps of a pickpocket, taking his paw into mine.

“Not a question. Let's dance.”

I pulled him off the couch. When he tried to pull away to free himself, I just swung around, pulling him close. The underside of my muzzle brushed against his head, flattening his ears.

I pulled back. My motions were graceful, practiced- I had known this day would come, and had prepared myself.

My roommate glared at me. I ignored it, dipping him in my paws and taking him into a bow to the tune of the graceful piano music playing from behind us.

“Dance with me,” I told him.

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “You really aren't gonna fuck off with this until I embarrass myself, is that it?”

I shook my head minutely. “There's no one to embarrass yourself with. It's just you, and me. And I want you to dance,” I replied

He sighed again, more heavily. But he started to move.

His dancing was jerky. Uncertain. It wasn't the style I was using at all. I couldn't match his frenetic motions in the slightest.

I didn't care. I let go of his paw, and we danced.

Something came over him, then. He saw my complete lack of judgment, and slowly he seemed to loosen up. His motions were still fast-paced and wild, but they grew to be more fluid, and yet more spastic at the same time.

I laughed, loud and genuine. He seemed so happy. He barreled into me, and I caught him, swinging him around and around to bleed off the velocity of his leap. We stumbled backwards onto the couch.

I landed on my tail. And I still didn't care. I just pulled my stoat closer to me and kissed the top of his head.

He couldn't wait. He burst from my arms, already moving and gyrating midair. “Hey! You started this, aren't you gonna join me?” he demanded, grinning.

I returned the grin. “Yes. Yes, I am,” I decided as I rose from the couch.

We danced the night away. Our moves didn't match any dance I had ever seen or heard of.

I already knew I didn't care. But as I pulled a worn out Marty into bed after he had completely exhausted himself, I don't think he cared, either.

 

 

 

I glanced up as the door opened. It was Al. I reached for the pile of bookmarks Marty kept on the couch-side table, and slipped one into my book.

“Marty's socializing,” he said without further ado.

I leaned over, rolling my head and letting my neck crack. “That's nice.”

Al kept going. “He doesn't seem tense at all. He's just… Happy. Even Ozzy's jokes didn't wind him up like they usually do.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”

Al hesitated. I knew he was a very direct wolf. He cared, he just didn't say much. Then:

“Whatever you did… Keep doing it. It's good for him.”

I smirked. “We'll see. I don't know if I have the stamina to keep up with him when he gets excited, though.”

He made a face. “Don't tell me. I get enough of it from the twins.”

I laughed as he showed himself out.

Stoats danced. But sometimes, they needed a little encouragement.


End file.
